Cold Feet Confessions
by LoveBugOC
Summary: The voice in the back of his head is telling him that this is the last place he should be. But he has to know. "I need you, Granger. I need you to tell me what to do. Do I marry her?" "I can't tell you what to do, Draco." "Then...tell me what you want me to do." Two-parter.
1. Cold Feet Confessions

Hello!

So this is a brand new story. I wrote it a few months ago. It was originally supposed to be just a one-shot, but after it was finished I realized it seemed very unfinished. So I wrote a second part, which Ièll post as another chapter!

Anyway, have a nice summer read with a side of some iced tea :)

Oh and leave a review or two, pretty please?

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**Cold Feet Confessions**

_The voice in the back of his head is telling him that this is the last place he should be. But he has to know. "I need you, Granger. I need you to tell me what to do. Do I marry her?" "I can't tell you what to do, Draco." "Then...tell me what you _want_ me to do."_

X

He doesn't remember how he got here. Nor does he remember how he found himself lying on the crimson carpet in the middle of a living room that doesn't belong him, staring up at the ceiling in utter silence and wishing – for once – that someone would fill it. He reckons he walked though, because surely he couldn't have apparated; he was far too drunk for that.

He looks sideways, his sobered gaze landing on locks of curly brown hair, creamy white skin and pink plump lips. It's a little thing they do, him and Granger, something they've done since becoming friends years ago; they lay side-by-side on the floor, their heads placed directly beside one another with their bodies sprawled in the opposite direction. He doesn't remember how it started, but it belongs to them and so he's never done it with anyone else. His fiancé doesn't understand and he doesn't bother to explain it.

He turns his head, looking back up at the white-washed ceiling with his hands folded across his chest.  
He shouldn't be here. Not tonight. Not after everything that's happened. And most certainly not when he's half in the bag. In fact the little voice in the back of his head is telling him that this is the exact last place on Earth he should be. [But then, he's never really cared much for the little voice. For the little voice often took on the thoughts and personality of his father and, well...] He _knows_he shouldn't be here. He should be at his bachelor party, enjoying the last few hours of "freedom" before he ties himself to his future wife for the rest of his life. He should be taking shots of fire whiskey and tequila and getting lap dances paid for him by his best man. Hell, he should even be sneaking into his fiancé's bedroom and persuading her to have one more un-wed romp with him for old time's sake.

Mostly, he should be anywhere in the world but _here, _especially on the eve of his wedding.

He wonders what's going through her mind right now. What she's thinking, how she's feeling. She does, after all, have opinions about everything. And he knows, more than anyone, how she feels about his fiancé.

He looks sideways at her again to find her looking back. They stare at one another, silently, for a moment before he smiles weakly. She smiles back, but it stops at the corners of her lips; it doesn't sparkle in her eyes like it's supposed to.

"You didn't go to Astoria's bachelorette party," he acknowledges casually. He's glad, nevertheless, that she didn't go because otherwise she wouldn't be here for him right now.

"You didn't go to your _own _bachelor party," she retorts.

He smirks, looking up at the ceiling. "I went, I just didn't stay."

"What, the lap dances weren't good enough?" she teases playfully.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. The truth is he hadn't been into the whole getting sloshed and getting lap dances thing; which he's sure he'll probably regret later in life. The entire time he'd been out, he'd been wondering when it would all end. He wanted nothing more than to just come _here_, and lie with his best girl friend and pretend he didn't want to run away and throw up at the same time. Blaise had joked about him having cold feet. Now he's beginning to wonder if his best man was right.

"Am I doing the right thing?" he asks her suddenly, his voice so low he hardly even hears it.

"What do you mean?" she asks softly, looking up at the ceiling.

He looks at her once more, propping himself up on his elbow and turning on his side to look at her properly. She's making a point of avoiding his gaze. "Marrying her..."

She hesitates, the stiffness in her body showing her discomfort. "I think that if it feels right, then yes."

"What if I don't know what feels right?"

"What doesn't feel right?"

He sighs heavily, flopping back with a soft thud against the carpet. "I dunno."

He thought he'd known. Hence asking the younger Greengrass sister, a Ravenclaw witch with a brilliant mind and beautiful personality – and his girlfriend of two years, to marry him two months ago. And up until approximately five hours ago, he thought he'd been doing the right thing. He'd been getting ready for his bachelor party, trying to tie the tie around his neck by hand rather than using magic because Granger has chastised him so many times about being lazy when it felt like he'd hit a wall. A giant, glass wall that allowed him to look into the life he would have in less than 24 hours from the outside. And somehow everything had looked wrong. Instead of Astoria walking down the aisle he'd pictured someone else. Instead of Astoria bearing him children with straight brown hair and blue eyes he'd imagined curly haired children with brown eyes like their mother's. Instead of a perfect, happy marriage without any issues he saw one full of heated debates and friendly insults and passionate lectures.

Granger's voice pulls him out of his thoughts: "Do you have cold feet?"

He would laugh if he wasn't so bloody terrified. He might as well be standing on a sheet of ice; which he'd rather not have to do ever again because despite her encouragements, it is definitely not "perfectly safe."

"If that's what this is, then yeah," he mutters.

She doesn't reply.

He wants to tell her why. He wants to tell her why he's having second thoughts about his impending future and yet at the same time he wants to bury it. He pushes himself into a sitting position, bending his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, glancing sideways at her as he does so. "I need you, Granger. I need you to tell me what to do. Do I marry her?" he asks, his voice soft and desperate.

"I can't tell you what to do, Draco."

"Then tell me what you _want _me to do," he pleads.

"I think you should figure out why you're having cold feet in the first place," she replies.

"I think we both know why I'm having cold feet," he retorts.

She gasps softly, so much so that he barely hears it.

He watches her intently, willing her to look at him. He stares at her back as she pushes herself into a sitting position as well, pulling her legs up to her chest. She wraps her right arm around her knees and runs her left hand through her messy hair, resting her elbow on the top of her knee. "It was a mistake," she whispers.

"It wasn't a mistake," he protests softly, but firmly.

She shakes her head, pushing herself to her feet before wrapping her arms around her torso protectively. "Draco..."

He sighs, looking down at the carpet beneath him. She's in denial; she's _been _in denial for over two years. He remembers, as he's sure she does as well, waking up that morning like it was yesterday. They'd been drunk – but not that drunk – the night before, she'd been upset because her boyfriend had broken up with her that morning and he'd been angry (and his knuckles had been sore) for the very same reason. He doesn't remember anything between kissing her in the middle of the dance floor and waking up the following morning with his face buried in her hair and his naked body curled around hers. She'd woken up in a panic, and out of habit (more than anything) he'd agreed with her never to speak of it again. But he'd thought about it – a lot. And he continued to think about it for weeks before meeting and courting Astoria Greengrass.

She's avoiding him, he realizes. Just as he she's always done, her back to him and her gaze shifting and landing on everything in the room except for him.

And for the first time in years, he's angry with her. He jumps to his feet suddenly, stalking towards her. "You can't keep ignoring it, Granger."

"And why not?" she asks him seriously, lifting her gaze to his. Her eyes are wet with tears of anger, sadness and fear. "It's worked so far, hasn't it? I mean, you're getting _married_ tomorrow. Remember," she points out bitterly.

He narrows his glare into slits. "Don't you dare blame it on me," he snaps. "You're the one who never wanted to speak of it again-"

"-you agreed-"

"-because I can't win with you!" he shouts defensively. "I _wanted _to talk about it. I wanted to talk to you so badly."

She blinks, sniffing back tears as she steps away from him. "Yeah, well, there's no point now."

"I'm not married yet, Granger. It's not too late."

"It was too late two years ago, Draco," she whispers. "Besides, you're happy. And I know you love her – you can't throw it away just because-"

"-I'm in love with _you_?" he finishes.

"Don't say that. What's done is done."

"It never even began! You never gave us a chance!" he shouts. He reaches for her, curling his right arm around her waist and pulling her forward until she's flush against him. She looks at him, eyes wide with curiosity and fear. "Tell me what you _want_," he begs.

"I can't-"

"Why not?"

"Because, Draco! I don't want you to throw away your relationship with her just because you're scared," she tells him level-headed.

"What, the way you did?"

"Yes," she whispers sadly, looking down at the non-existent space between them.

He uses his free hand, placing his index finger under her chin, to tilt her face up to look at him. "Tell me what you want me to do, Granger," he whispers again. "I'll leave her. I'll run away with you, right now if you want me to. I just need you to tell me you want me to."

She doesn't say it, but he can see it in her eyes. He can see it written all over her face. It's like a weight's been lifted off of his shoulders, allowing him to breath evenly once more. And suddenly he _knows_exactly where he is and where he's going and who he's going there with. He isn't afraid. He isn't uncertain or confused. He's quite the opposite, in fact. [His feet are warm now.]

"Can I sleep here?" he asks softly.

She nods, allowing him to guide her down the hall to her own bedroom.

He'll deal with everything else tomorrow.


	2. Old Weddings and New Proposals

Here's the second and final part! Hope you all have enjoyed it :)

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**Old Weddings and New Proposals**

_He's gone when she wakes up. Hurt and angry, she attends the wedding with only one thing in mind. She should've known better-or should she have?_

X

She's alone. This is the only thought that registers when she rolls onto her back to find the empty spot next to her. She is alone.

And he is gone.

Tears automatically sting the backs of her eyes and her stomach flips, feeling sick. She isn't sure what she wants to do more: cry or scream. So she decides to do both, grabbing the pillow he had occupied during the night – ignoring the fact that it smells like his cologne – and burying her face in it as she screams loud, painful sobs into the fabric of the pillow case.

She should've known better, she thinks. Scratch that. She _knows_ she should've known better. Her only sense of comfort comes from the fact that she's still fully clothed. At least she hadn't made _that _mistake again.

He was confused and dramatic and she should've known that he was searching for a scapegoat until he realized that he'd been right all along. It happens all the time, doesn't it? Men rehashing old love stories – not that they had much of a story – when they're about to get married, wondering if they're ready and if it's what they want. Most times it's exactly what they want, they just need to be reminded. And she, it seems, was his reminder.

What feels like a lifetime later, after she's cried all the tears she's willing to commit to him, she manages to pull herself out of bed. She glances at the clock on her bedside table, the red numbers glaring and taunting her: 9:47. The ceremony begins in an hour and 13 minutes. Which means in less than two hours, he will be a married man.

He, her best friend and love of her life, will officially belong to someone else.

She doesn't want to go. She has to, she knows, because he would kill her if she didn't – which doesn't sound like a bad idea any longer... But she doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to watch him with someone else. She doesn't want to watch him smile at _her_ and kiss _her _and promise himself to _her_. She doesn't want to watch him leave her.

She manages to drag herself down the hall and into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water only to freeze in the middle of the doorway. On the kitchen table is a plate full of scrambled eggs, sausages, toast and hash browns. Next to it is a cup of tea and a note that reads: "I thought you'd be hungry, so I made breakfast. I'll see you at the altar."

Jerk.

She stares at the plate, watching the steam rise from the food. Clearly he'd placed a heating charm on her food. The more she stares, however, the angrier she gets. The nerve of him. The audacity. The stupid, loathsome, slimy little heart-breaking git!

The longer she stares, the less she wants to eat.

If there was ever any question as to whether or not she's going to attend the ceremony, there isn't one now. She will most definitely be attending – if only to give him a piece of her mind.

X

She arrives with just five minutes to spare until the ceremony is supposed to start. Clad in a bright red dress, one which Fashionista Ginny Potter had picked out, and silver stilettos, she walks through the Malfoy Manor's front door and through the house to the backyard. Everyone except the groom, himself, and his bride, is there; the guests are sitting in their seats waiting patiently while chatting, the male side of the wedding party standing up at the front. Blaise and Theo look the most hung over, she notices, as they're standing there with their heads hung and sunglasses covering their eyes.

She turns right around then, going back inside and upstairs to Draco's old room. She hesitates outside the door, smoothing her dress over her hips and thighs and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Taking a deep breath to calm the adrenaline rushing through her, she throws open the door without another thought.

The door swings open, connecting loudly with the wall it's hinged on. The noise startles her, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He's standing at his large, bay-view window overlooking the backyard, his hands inside his trouser pockets. He's wearing his entire suit, except for the jacket, which she notices he's tossed on the bed. The sleeves of his white-collar shirt are rolled up to his elbows and the tie around his neck is still hanging at the sides.

She wonders, briefly, what the hell he's doing before she walks into the room and closes the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking into place seems to catch his attention, as he looks at her. She doesn't recognize the look on his face as he stares at her.

"Hey," he breathes, relieved.

She clenches her fists at her sides, struggling to hold back tears as she marches across the threshold. Her hand connects with his cheek before she even stops walking, and then all of a sudden she's hitting him over and over again – on the chest and shoulders, whimpering that she hates him.

This is so not how she planned on handling this.

He grabs her by the arms in an attempt to calm her down before pulling her into his chest. She melts against him, crying into the crook of his neck, curling her arms underneath his as she clutches his shoulders. "Shhhh," he murmurs.

And then just as quickly as she lost her resolve, she finds it. She pushes back roughly against his chest, stepping out of his arms. She takes a few extra steps back to distance herself from him. "I hate you," she whispers, shaking her head.

"Granger-"

"You are _such_ a slimy little git, Malfoy!" she cries, putting an emphasis on his last name. "After everything you said – after everything you made _me_ say – you do _this_? I never should've trusted you!"

"Granger-"

"I'm done, Draco," she mutters, shaking her head. She knows it isn't true. She knows that in a few weeks, after the romantic honeymoon in Italy, he'll find a way to weasel his way back into her life and she'll let him. But until then, she wants to believe it. She wants _him _to believe it. "Have a nice life." She turns to leave, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"She's gone," he calls after her. There's a sense of urgency and desperation in his voice that she hasn't heard before.

She stops, halfway across the room with her back to him. Blinking rapidly, dazed, confused and emotional, she turns back to face him. "What?"

"She left. She's gone."

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "What'd she do, realize you weren't worth it?" she snaps.

He takes a painfully slow step towards her. And then another. And another. "I told her the truth-"

"And what truth is that?" she asks sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest.

"That I'm hopelessly in love with another woman and I couldn't marry _her_," he murmurs, closing space between them. They are so close now that she can smell him. "I told her everything, Hermione. I told her what happened before I met her and I told her what happened last night."

She blinks, taken aback. This isn't at all what she had expected. "Y-You did?"

He nods.

"Where'd she go?"

"Home, with her bridesmaids. She mentioned something about ice cream," he shrugs.

She laughs softly, looking down at the floor between them. A minute and a half ago she was thinking the same thing : Rocky Road ice cream.

He lifts her chin with his finger, tilting her face to look at him. The amount of tenderness and hope and love in his eyes startles her. "I choose _you_," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. "It's always been you, Granger."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of her lungs. And it feels warmer all of a sudden, which doesn't help the fact that she can't breathe. She tries to move away from him but he pulls her back, crushing her body to his while he simultaneously covers her mouth with his. His lips are soft but firm against hers, experience, talented and oh-so-desirable. She melts into him once more, moaning softly into his mouth as he deepens the kiss. She can feel every emotion and every feeling through his kiss. He winds his arms around her waist, locking them there as he lets out his own moan.

The only reason they pull apart is to gasp for air, both of them grinning like fools. He takes advantage of the moment, and the silence. "Marry me," he whispers, his lips brushing against hers.

She laughs softly, rolling her eyes. "You're insane."

"Yes, well, that's beside the point. I still want you to marry me."

She pulls away then, pushing softly against his chest as she takes a small step back. "Draco-"

"Look," he starts, staring at her intently, "there's already a room full of people out there waiting to witness a beautiful ceremony. Everything's already been paid for – by me. I'm already dressed for it. And I'd hate to see all this hard work go to waste. Besides, it's bound to happen sooner or later and, personally, I like the sound of sooner rather than later," he tells her convincingly.

She blinks thrice, turning away from him. "I dunno, Draco," she whispers. Despite her hesitancy and her doubt, her heart is hammering in her chest and echoing in her ears, her palms are sweating and her legs are shaking.

He sighs softly, curling his arms around her waist and resting his chin her left shoulder. "Why not, Granger?" he asks softly. "What's stopping us?"

"This isn't our wedding for starters-"

"It's mine and I want to make you my bride-"

"And we can't just get married, Draco," she tells him logically. She slips out of his grip, turning slowly to face him. "We've never even dated-"

"So?" he scoffs. "We've been friends for years, Granger – hell, we've known each other for over half our lives. We know each other better than anyone, we know each other's flaws and weaknesses as well our strengths. I mean, sure we push each other's buttons and we fight constantly and we probably want to ring each other's necks more often than not, be that's who we are, Granger," he whispers. "We're wild and crazy and we don't always make sense – people are still trying to figure us out, and that's why we're so great. And you _know _we're great together."

"It isn't logical," she points out.

"_We _aren't logical."

"It'll be irresponsible."

"Then we'll deal with the consequences."

She swallows a lump in her throat, considering him as she stares into his eyes. He's being completely serious, she realizes. He genuinely wants this. He genuinely, wholeheartedly, desperately wants to marry her. "Draco-"

"Please don't make me beg for it, Granger," he murmurs, taking her face in his hands. "Just marry me, do me the honour of being my wife. Let me love you today, tomorrow and for the rest of our life."

Tears have gathered in her eyes, blurring her vision. But she can see the look in his eyes and on his face. Love. Devotion. Sincerity. It's the same way he looked at her last night as they laid in her bed, facing one another. It's the same way he's always looked at her. "What if it doesn't work?"

"What if it does?" he points out, smirking softly as he tilts his head to the side.

She can't help the smile pulling at her lips or the skip in her heart. And suddenly there isn't a doubt or even a question in her mind. "Okay," she whispers.

His eyes light up and a wide grin tugs at his lips. "Y-yeah?"

She nods vigorously.

His arms circle her waist again and he buried his face into the crook of her neck as he spins her around happily. "You just made me the happiest man on earth, Love," he whispers. He sets her down on her feet, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. He pulls away quickly, making his way to the door, "I'll tell Potter and Potterette-"

"They're gonna think we're mental," she tells him, wide-eyed.

He pauses in the doorway, as he turns back to look at her, winking playfully. "I'll see you at the altar."


End file.
